


Seven Deadly Sins Challenge

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-07
Updated: 2008-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: YES! I will be doing seven ficlets each themed around a different sin, and in each, poor Spikey brings out the worst in people.





	1. Gluttony (Riley)

**Author's Note:**

> So, since ~~I'm totally blocking on half a dozen things~~ I love my comms so, I thought I would combine the Seven Deadly Sins prompt at [](https://darker-spike.livejournal.com/profile)[**darker_spike**](https://darker-spike.livejournal.com/) with the Random Non-Con prompt at [](https://feedmykink.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://feedmykink.livejournal.com/)**feedmykink**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first one is Spike/Riley NON-CON. If that isn't your thing, avoid.
> 
> [Just realized - this is my first Spiley! WOO! Another pairing cherry popped!]

Riley was always a big eater, growing up on the farm, then in the army – work hard, eat hearty. But lately he couldn’t get his fill. Sausage and eggs, grits, hamburgers – nothing seemed to satisfy.

He was at the Bronze, downing yet another coke that wasn’t slaking his thirst, when he glanced up and knew why.

Spike was at the bar, head tilted back, eyes closed peacefully as he drained a twenty ounce beer like it was water, his throat working sinuously.

All Riley could see now was that throat, those lips latched on smooth glass, and he remembered other lips, attached to him, drawing him down in unquenchable thirst.

Riley wanted. He left half a basket of hot wings and fries and felt in his pocket for his wallet. Outside the Bronze he groaned, counting out two dollars and change. What happened to the twenty he’d gotten out that morning?

Someone left the bar and through the swinging door he caught a glimpse of a bus-boy clearing his french-fries.

Riley’s veins itched from too much blood, fueled by too much food. He scratched his arm too hard, cutting the skin. It didn’t help, it just stung a little.

“Wot’s the matter, white-bread? They make the vanilla too spicy for you?”

Riley had Spike pinned to the brick wall before he realized himself he was doing it. His forearm pressed up against the vampire’s chin, the thin trickle of blood from his self-inflicted scratch so close now to that throat that worked, again, swallowing against pressure, though Spike of course affected a bored, almost disinterested face.

“My problem is that you are useless.” Riley pressed harder.

“Ah.” Spike leaned his head back as far as the wall would allow, stretching his throat, the hard nub of his adam’s apple bobbing. “So that’s what this is. Jonesing for a bit of fang, are we? Oh, white-bread’s not so pure and white anymore, is he?”

Spike landed, sprawled on his back in the alleyway, his coat around him like broken wings. Riley felt his heart pounding in his ears and blushed – he couldn’t help it – there were people coming and going from the bar, stopping to stare at the sudden violence. A bouncer was leaning out the door.

Riley wiped his forearm across his face, then hissed as sweat ground into the shallow cuts.

He walked up to Spike and held out his hand.

Spike rolled his eyes and got up on his own, graceful as an unfolding fan. “Piss off, cornfed,” he said, jerking his jacket more fully onto his shoulders he turned to go.

Riley just followed him. It was a familiar path, cutting behind Sunnydale’s small commercial district to the cemetery. They were soon alone.

Spike turned with an exasperated sigh. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want a drink,” Riley said. He stepped very close to Spike. The vampire backed up but he kept contact, always putting one foot between Spike’s until he had him once again backed against a wall. It was a warehouse, long louvered windows overhead.

“News flash: Chip. Can’t help you, mate. Not that I would. Yours is the last blood I’d ever drink. Lord knows what’s in it.”

Riley rammed his knee into Spike’s tight denim crotch, felt his hips impact the stone wall and he cried out. But didn’t vamp out. So Riley hit him again. He lifted his body off the wall just to slam it. Spike twisted, tried to slip away, and then threw the inevitable punch, crumpling with pain against his attacker.

“Vamp out,” Riley demanded, slamming Spike’s shoulders to the brick. “Vamp out.” He held him up with one hand and punched him in the gut. Spike was only just recovering enough from the chip-fire to stand. He crumpled again. Riley waited for him to gasp twice and punched again, harder. And then again, so he could feel spine against his knuckles.

“I can keep this up all night, Spike. Can you?”

Spike’s lips moved, airlessly framing some insult or other. Riley grabbed him by the ears and slammed his head into the wall, twice. His arms were shaking now, trembling because he had to hold back. He couldn’t knock Spike out or there would be no fix.

So he twisted his fingernails into his ears and pressed his knee into his groin, rhythmically, he rode him against the wall. At last Spike snarled, eyes going yellow and face ridging, beautiful, pure, demonic. Riley slashed his arm across Spike’s fangs, bloodying his lip and more importantly, ripping open a gash that bleed freely. Wet blood smeared all over Riley’s arm now, and Spike’s lips as the vampire whimpered in pain, his visage melting back to human.

“Drink. Drink it. Demon. Beast.” He was thrusting his arm at Spike’s mouth, grinding his lips open against his teeth. “Don’t pretend you aren’t a slave to your appetites. That’s all vampires are. Appetite. So drink!”

They were on the ground now, Spike almost sitting against the wall while Riley kneeled over him, pressing. His arm slid around slack lips as Spike tried to refuse and turn away. Riley gripped his hair and forced him to be still, to face it.

And he started to drink.

Lips locked tight to his skin. He licked the cut, spreading it open and lapped up the blood like a kitten, his long pale throat working with each little swallow. There was something beautiful, beyond the pull, the thirst and need, something perfect in the amount of blood wasted, smeared all over the lower half of Spike’s face, dripping down his throat and soaking into the collar of his shirt. Riley gasped at the debauchery, the poetry of waste.

Spike’s lips lifted away, he shook his head slightly, tried to say something. Riley forced his face down again, but only felt blunt teeth against his cut.

Riley knew there was something wrong that blood loss made him so hard. He picked up one of Spike’s hands – they were lying slack at his sides, he’d given up fighting completely after the second chip fire. Riley pressed his fingers to his erection, rubbed them up and down, limp and twisting in his grip.

“No,” Spike said. “No, fuck no, Riley. You’re not…”

“You haven’t had enough to eat.” Riley undid his fly, barely feeling his fingers – they were numb, pulsing, full of blood like his cock. He dragged the blonde head down. He scrambled, rolled, almost got away, but Riley was half on top of him already. It took little to pin the vampire down, on his back. Rile pushed his knees out, grinding arm-bones into pavement now he gathered up a fistful of blonde hair again. “Drink,” he said.

Spike gritted his teeth to keep him out, but Riley knew how to pry an unwilling mouth open. It was just like feeding medicine to calves, or putting muzzles on hostiles in the initiative. His fingers pressed until the jaw gave and he pushed himself past teeth barely open wide enough. But he wanted that feeling, hard, edge-painful, but not nearly sharp enough. Never sharp enough. “Go on,” he said, “Bite it.”

Spike thrashed his head, trying to get away. Riley hissed in pain at a brief graze, a convulsion as the chip fired again. He used the moment of disorientation, of pliancy after the pain, to push all the way in, into the throat. Spike gagged, but even that was pleasant. A fluttering sleeve engulfed his cock, cold, dead, feeding, never satiated. Riley braced himself on the ground over Spike’s head and thrust into that mouth. He knew he was blocking off the airways, and it got him off knowing that didn’t matter. Vampires don’t need to breathe. They only need to feed. “Eat it,” he said. “Eat. Eat.”

Spike went limp. He took it. Which was a shame. Riley wanted sucking. He wanted to be fed on. Frustration made him pound harder. He could feel the skull below him rubbing against the dirty asphalt, felt the complete power, complete control. His balls were drawing up and he was fucking faster and faster. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. He tasted his own blood and pulled back, fast, almost in a panic lest he miss it – no, he was in time. His cum spurted thick over blood-stained lips, down that chin and throat, mingling with all that spilled gore.

Riley was light-headed. He fell as he tried to climb off of the supine vampire, and then he stumbled again as he tried to stand, catching himself on the wall. He glanced down and laughed a little at the strawberries-and-cream mess left on the vampire's chin and neck, like he'd just gorged himself.

Spike was looking at him, warily, hands out as though ready to fend off another attack.

Riley laughed. “You’re a waste, Spike. Just a waste.” He straightened his clothes and walked away still feeling hungry.


	2. Sloth (William/Angelus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the next deadly sin! 
> 
> Slothily. ;)

It was hot enough in Sicily to make even the undead lethargic that June and Angelus lay back on expensive sheets in an expensive hotel room with the very best and most expensive electric fans, and felt not a whit cooler than he would stuffed in the fireplace.

He raised his head, briefly considering the white tiled fireplace. It might feel cooler.

“Angelus, it’s dusk!” William swung into the room – a human (er, inhuman) whine. A whine on legs. He had his shirt half undone and his bracers jangling loose. “Come on! You said we could go out when it was dark. I want to see the city.”

William jumped up onto the window sill, crouching like a feral child. The muslin drapes washed back and forth behind him.

“So go see the city,” Angelus said, eyes on the ceiling fan.

“You bloody well know Darla said I wasn’t allowed to go alone after that stupid incident in Rome.” William glared spitefully out the window. The moonlight caught his jaw line and corded throat beautifully, matching it with the ripples in the curtain behind him, undertones of cerulean and sepia. “Last thing I need is another of Her Majesty’s punishments. Won’t stand for a month this time.”

The boy looked beautiful, petulant, and cool. And all the way on the feckin’ other side of the room. Angelus grunted in annoyance. “Come here.”

Icy blue eyes instantly darted to him, wide and wary. “What? No. Why should I do that?”

Because the male head of his house said to! But Angelus smiled tightly. “Come here, lad, just for a moment, and I’ll go out hunting with you.”

William slipped one leg down from the windowsill. (And did he ever look like a debauched lothario slipping into his lover’s boudoir! Angelus made a mental note to draw him like that. Sometime when it wasn’t so hot.)

Too slowly William approached the bed with cautious little cat-steps. “You’re smiling. And not being a total bastard. Those are both very bad signs.”

Angelus didn’t bother to give him a response, only raised his eyebrows expectantly. William looked cool as moonlight on milk, as cool as the white ceramic tiles around the fireplace. Angelus wanted to know if he felt that cool to touch.

And, if he was honest, he didn’t want to rouse himself from bed and find a victim tonight – so may as well dine in on the house wine. He patted the sweat-damp sheet by his hip.

William sat gingerly on the very edge of the bed. “It’s cooler outside, ‘Gelus. And from Drusilla’s room you can see this market all hung with colored lights. It’s toward the docks and you can see...”

“Closer.”

William blinked. “What?”

“Come closer. And don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”

William shifted an infinitesimal bit closer. But at least now he had both hips on the bed. Good enough.

With a sigh like a great bear rolling in his slumber, Angelus sat up, grabbed William about the waist, and fell back again, the younger vampire landing with a squeak of surprise above him.

“Mmm, ye are cool as you look,” Angelus said, nuzzling into the soft nape of his neck.

“Let go of me!” William flailed, landing an elbow on his sire’s forehead that earned him a cuff.

“Be still, lad, or you’ll never be let out.”

Never one to capitulate to reasonable terms, William continued to squirm about like a worm on the hook. “Not now, ‘Gelus! It’s too hot to get buggered and I’m still sore from last time. Why don’t you get your lazy arse out of bed and find someone else to torment!”

With a growl Angelus punched the boy, but the angle was awkward and now he was really struggling, elbows and shins and knees all hitting uncomfortably and raising sweat. Angelus heaved a sigh of annoyance and, since he still had a good grip around the boy’s waist, swung him into the bed post a few times until the boy’s head lolled loose on his neck and blood trickled from his temples.

Grumbling under his breath about the lack of discipline in general, Angelus stripped the boy’s trousers – which he should really have been accommodating enough to do himself! He was already naked himself, so it needed only a push away of the sheet and he sheathed his cock in the tight, cool ass. He sighed in relief and started moving the limp body up and down. But that got to be too much work and he was resigned to flipping them both over and pounding the boy into the bed in a more traditional manner.

Like a drink of ice water, it was, slaking his lust in the easy, ready body. He moved only enough to bring his own pleasure and laid back with a sigh afterward, enjoying the cool feeling of sweat drying on his belly.

***

William awoke and made a comical noise, high-pitched, muffled, his mouth filled with a twist of ripped-off sheet. Another twisted band of muslin spread his lips wide and pressed into his cheeks, giving them a fullness they didn't usually have. He was a debauched angel. And Angelus would draw that - when it got cooler. As it was, there was hardly any time left in the night to enjoy the air before sunrise.

Angelus had just finished getting dressed. He had started to knot his neck scarf, but stopped, just letting it fall open on his chest. “Well, you’ve ruined the sheets and made a mess of the room.” Angelus sighed, leaning back against the wall to admire the picture William made, his slight form tied down with twisted cords of white stained with red – so near to the texture of his welt-striped skin. “If you hadn’t been such a lazy lad and had pleased your sire this wouldn’t have had to happen,” Angelus chuckled and sauntered to the door. “But at least I won’t have to go looking for you tomorrow. Goodnight, William. I’m going out to see the city.”

William's frustrated cries and the creak of the bed frame trailed after Angelus as he sauntered into the hall.


	3. Envy (Lindsey)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next deadly sin! 
> 
> Spike/Lindsey this time. And yes, non-con once again. Poor Spike.

Neither vampire knew they were being watched. One moment snarling in each other’s faces, the next, halted, their mouths open, eyes seeking lips and hanging there, like they were just enjoying the taste of each other’s breath before closing that final inch and melding. Hands gripping leather, tugging, pulling, urgent.

Angel. Dark, beautiful Angel. Never his, never even wanting to be his, and Spike. The son of a bitch had strung Angel up once and pushed hot pokers through him! How was that forgivable when Lindsey – just following fuckin’ orders – was beyond redemption?

Later, when Lindsey approached Spike with a fake name and a faker smile, the vampire didn’t know how well he was known.

Spike had everything Lindsey had ever wanted, not just Angel; he was the fuckin’ cherry on the sundae. There was more, written between the lines in watcher’s diaries and first-hand accounts. The bastard was loved - had love thrown on him like cheap cologne and didn’t fucking notice it. Love and respect and redemption were all things Lindsey could never obtain. But Lindsey did have one thing; he had the keys to the apartment.

He paused, when he unlocked the door, looking at the second deadbolt, set at eye-level. There had only been one key to that lock, and Lindsey had it, so it wasn’t used. But every time he unlocked the door, he glanced at it and remembered that he could, very easily, lock the vampire in.

Spike was sprawled on the twin bed, limbs hanging off all sides, the sheet twisted and bunched between his legs. He’d been tossing and turning, then, before falling into the quite-literally dead sleep he was in.

Bare shoulders, twisted muscles spread out as he hugged the pillow under his head, and a bare back, colorless like the indifferent streetlight that shone down through the high, narrow window.

Damn. He’d gotten the shittiest apartment he could and still Spike made it something beautiful. Lindsey ached with how much he wanted just to touch that.

He wound the telephone wire around his fist, testing its strength with a tug that cut into the meat of his palm. Then, with a sigh, he went to the telephone and replaced the cord that had been chewed through by rats. Spike had called them ‘unwanted takeaway’ and snapped at him to ‘do something about it’.

Spoiled little rich vamp. Lindsey tugged too hard taking the old cord out of the wall and the heavy old phone fell off its little table, internal bells chiming in complaint.

Spike snorted, one arm flailing. “Wot’s that?”

“Just your landlord, champ. And what are you doing asleep at night, anyway?” Lindsey slammed the phone back on its table with a little more force than necessary, the bells and parts chiming again.

Spike blinked at him, propped up on his elbows now, hair all a mess. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Doyle. Was out defending freedom and puppies already.” He flopped back against the pillows, an arm over his eyes.

Lindsey walked up to the side of the bed. “Were you defending freedom in the strip club or the liquor store?”

Spike squinted up at him in irritation. “Had an early success. Came upon a whole gang of vamps – some bachelor party or something. Fourteen dustings, thank you, and I’m fagged out. Plus I was up during the day because of that vision you had so if you don’t mind…”

“I do mind.” Lindsey went back to the end table and snatched up the ruined telephone cord. It whipped against his thigh from the force of motion.

“Bloody hell, Doyle. What bug’s crawled up your ass?”

“You don’t care.” He turned, gesturing at the window. “People could be in trouble out there but you’re ‘fagged out’ so forget about _them_. What the hell kind of champion am I suffering for here?”

“Only one you’ve got,” Spike said, eyebrows knit.

Lindsey tightened his fist around coiled wire and sweat. “Maybe the Powers That Be sent me to the wrong guy. Who was that other vampire you were bitchin’ about? What was it – Angel?”

“The hell!” Spike smacked the bed so hard the frame bounced and leapt to his feet, naked and shameless as a jaybird. “That’s bollocks. Mr. CEO wouldn’t know a champion if he was beaten into the ground by one.” Spike tilted his head cockily, “Which he was,” he added, and snatched his jeans off the foot of the bed.

Lindsey should have stopped there, having done his job, gotten Spike the reluctant lazy bastard back out there to win the day. But his jaw ached with clenching. He took a step closer to the agitated vampire. All that power and strength, on edge. He could turn and rip Lindsey’s head from his shoulders with ease. Lindsey could never resist danger “Protest a bit much there, champ. Afraid you don’t stack up to the competition?”

Spike affected the most disbelieving of grimaces as he pulled on his jeans. He slid them up fast and rough, no underwear, just pushed his cock out of the way and zipped up like that wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing to see. “I died, all right? To save the world. I don’t need some pillock with migraines to tell me I’m a champion. Angel can go to hell.” Spike bent to retrieve his t-shirt – black of course – from the floor. “If he isn’t there already,” he muttered as he stretched the black fabric over his head.

“I think you envy him.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Spike tugged down the shirt, settling his shoulders like it was armor. “Envy his brooding? The way he pushes everyone away so even with a fan club and all those lackies he’s still a miserable, lonely old git?”

Lindsey took another step forward, head tilted back. “You think he’s a better man.”

The punch hit Lindsey’s jaw, sending a red haze over his vision as he stumbled backward, not feeling the pain yet. He touched his chin, feeling the heat of the impact. “Answers my question,” he said.

“I don’t have time for this, Doyle. Got kiddies and puppies to save.”

“Yeah. Strike the defenseless human and leave. Real big champion you are.”

“You knew I was a dick when you met me.” Spike turned his back on Lindsey and walked casually to pick his duster off the dinette chair.

“You’re not leaving this apartment.”

Spike whirled, arms out. “You want me to leave, you want me to stay, which is it?”

Would his magically-enhanced strength meet the vampire’s in a full-on fight? Lindsey thought about beating that pretty face, about dominating with strength. He shook his head. “Doesn’t make a difference, does it? You’re not gonna make a difference out there.”

“Watch me.”

Lindsey grabbed his arm as he reached for his coat and he felt the muscles tense, felt Spike pull back to punch, and saw the conflict in his expression. His eyes lingered on the bruise already rising on Lindsey’s jaw.

“What’s the matter, champ? Feeling less than worthy?”

“Let go.”

“Or what, you’ll bash my face in? Nice. Real nice. What would Angel say?”

“You don’t know a thing about Angel.”

Lindsey shrugged. Not letting go his grip on Spike’s arm, he stepped in front of the vampire. “I can guess he’s gotta be bigger than a scrawny guy like you. Maybe he even looks the part – handsome, broad-shouldered?”

“He’s a regular GQ cover vamp. What do you want me to say, Doyle? I’m sorry?”

“Nah,” Lindsey lifted his chin. “Sorry’s a sorry word, my momma used to say.” He looped the telephone wire around Spike’s wrist.

With a wary frown, Spike jerked his arm back, but the loop of wire only tightened, what had been a loose knot squeaking closed against his skin. Lindsey kept hold on the wire. “I think you want him,” he said, relishing in the irony of his own words he let them drip like honey from his lower lip. “I think you want to be him. He has everything you want, without even trying, and it eats you up inside.”

Spike, almost without realizing it, retreated as Lindsey advanced. “Don’t fucking play around like this, Doyle. It’s cutting off my non-existent circulation. Said I’m sorry for lamping you.”

Spike twisted away as Lindsey grabbed for his other arm. For a moment they were engaged in a slap-fight, Lindsey trying to grab on and being thwarted, until Spike backed into the bed.

Lindsey stopped reaching for Spike’s forearm and rushed him, shoulder to sternum, knocking him back onto the mattress.

“Bastard!” Spike punched, but Lindsey was expecting that, with a loop he had the other wrist captured.

He set his knee on the vampire’s stomach and pulled back on the wire, drawing Spike’s wrists together while he struggled, brow ridges rippling under the surface. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Tying up a spoiled vampire,” Lindsey said, grunting a little with the effort of holding his position as Spike bucked under him. “Just like roping cattle.”

“Don’t want to hurt you, Doyle!”

“Yes you do.” He leaned down, letting his knee slide from Spike’s stomach to his crotch, and the vampire stilled, staring at him. Lindsey lowered himself until his lips could feel the downy hairs on Spike’s cheek, just above the surface of the skin. “You’re only fighting because you know I’m right. You don’t deserve a second chance.”

Blue eyes widened, the forehead smoothed. Lindsey knew then he had him. Now all he had to do was say the opposite of the truth. “You’re selfish,” he said, reaching over Spike’s head to loop the wire around the metal head-rail. “You don’t care enough. You haven’t suffered enough.”

Spike’s fists clenched, his arms straining as Lindsey looped the wire a second time over the pipe-like bed frame and back over the combined wrists. He leaned his head back. “What do you want, then, Doyle? Gonna make me suffer? Think you know what’s enough? It’s never enough. Never can be.”

Lindsey finished off his work with a pair of square knots and scooted back to punch the vampire in the stomach. “Had about enough of your ‘poor me’.” Knee-walking just a little further back he grabbed the top of Spike’s jeans and ripped them open.

Spike gasped airlessly, “No!” He twisted and kicked, but Lindsey got the jeans down and left them around mid-calf, holding Spike’s legs together. He sat on the vampire’s thighs as he tried to kick the jeans the rest of the way off so he could use his legs better to fight.

“Let’s see if I got you pegged right,” Lindsey said, calmly rolling up the bottom of Spike’s t-shirt. “I’m gonna guess middle-class. Privileged, boring life. Right? Never had any real problems, loving family. Found yourself a vampire and had to be all cool. It’s been, what? A hundred years? And you’re still trying to act like you’re down with the street scene when you’ve never had to worry about a roof over your head.” Lindsey pushed the t-shirt over a scowling face and nudged it up Spike’s arms to cover the wires that were now limned in blood. He looked down, smiling smugly into rage. “Am I close?”

“It’ll take me a little while to break these wires,” Spike said with affected calm, “because they have some stretch in ‘em. But when they snap, Doyle, you’re not going to want to be here.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Lindsey ran his palm over the ladder of ribs, the sharply defined muscles of Spike’s torso, stretched and twisted for his appreciation. “Then, after all that undeserved grace, you, worthless shit that you are, get to save the world, and die doing it. Who gets that? Absolute vindication? Who deserves that? You?” Lindsey squinted into Spike’s eyes, looking honestly curious. “Did you deserve that grand exit? And to come back from it free of charge?”

Lindsey held off his smile until Spike’s eyelids closed. Jackpot. He was unnecessarily rough, grabbing the vampire’s slender waist and flipping him onto his stomach. Spike cried out and fresh blood trickled out from under the bunched t-shirt to drip down his arms, delineating the curve of his twisted triceps.

The shoulders rose with breath. “No. Just… don’t, Doyle. Not this. Just don’t.”

Lindsey reached around, rubbing his thumb up the side of Spike’s face just to confirm the presence of his tears. He pulled his head back by his hair and looked at them – glittering streaks spilling from the corners of his tightly-closed eyes.

He stroked Spike’s side again. Beautiful. How was it he was somehow so insecure he didn’t know how fucking gorgeous and adored he was?

And that, too, was perfect. Flawless as his ageless skin.

Lindsey pushed Spike’s thighs apart as far as he could with his knees and then pried his way between the smooth globes of his tight ass. He jabbed his thumb hard into the dimple, not wanting to go in dry, he fucked him brutally with fingers until blood slicked the way.

“I don’t want this… I don’t… I’m not…”

“What? Telling me you didn’t rape a few times when you were evil?” Lindsey lined himself up. “You deserve it. Say it.” He pushed in and hissed at the sensation – tighter than he’d expected, clenching, fighting to keep him out. His eyes rolled back and he had to grip Spike’s hips harder just to keep himself up.

He realized he was giving him time to adjust. Mustn’t have that. He thrust hard, badly, off-center a bit. He shifted his stance and started fucking in earnest, lifting slender hips with his hands, slamming in and enjoying the compression of his balls against smooth flesh.

“Say it.” He jabbed hard, his dick a weapon. “Say it.”

“Fucker! I’ll kill you!” Spike jerked his hands hard. The bed-frame shook and the wires bit tighter, flexing almost to the breaking point.

Lindsey ground in, deep, shallow thrusts, he gathered Spike into his arms and lifted him partially off the bed, nuzzled his chin into the soft skin just below Spike’s ear while the vampire tried to pull away from him. “We both know that’s not true. Is it? Why would you kill me, Spike? The one who provides for you? Your link to the powers that be? You may be a joke of a champion, but without me, you aren’t even that. Now say it. Say you deserve this. Getting fucked against your will by someone who, quite frankly, would rather be doing it to someone else.”

This “no,” was weak.

“You’re pathetic. Not even a good fuck. Admit it.” Lindsey bit back a groan, enjoying the pure fucked-up nature of what he was doing. The lie so blatant, the listener so willing to believe it. He felt a monster of an orgasm building, warming from his center as he fucked that perfect tight vampire ass.

He imagined Angel, holding him down like this, and his hand tightened on the back of Spike’s neck, pressing him even harder into the mattress.

“I deserve it,” Spike whispered.

Lindsey bit through his lip, wanting desperately to hold onto that ledge, but he tipped over, falling helplessly, thoroughly into that blinding bliss. He lost vision and thought for a moment and didn’t even feel himself collapse onto the vampire’s back.

He lay a long time, catching his breath against the still form below him. He thought about how he knew how Spike must be feeling at this moment, hating every inch of contact between their skins. Not wanting to move because movement would make him feel. Not wanting to be there at all.

And yet, Lindsey still envied him. Spike was beautiful in his suffering, and one desecration closer to forgiveness while Lindsey was yet another step further away.


	4. Pride (Giles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadly sin 4 of 7.
> 
> Spike/Giles
> 
> This one didn't come out so well. *Sigh* Perhaps too much passive voice.

If you were going to do something, it was worth doing it right. Giles had grated a long time at the ‘bathtub solution’. It was inconvenient. It was untidy. The chains rattled and left dark marks on the porcelain. The tiled bathroom had a bad habit of amplifying an already annoying voice, and worst of all, the chains really were too loose, allowing the vampire an irritating liberality.

And Giles was certain Spike had timed his ejaculation precisely to be when he walked into the bathroom, the cheeky bastard. One does not expect to walk right in on a fountain of spurting jizz and that knowing leer.

So Giles had said, mentally of course, “Enough of this nonsense.” He turned on his heel, slamming the bathroom door, and told the children, “Could you all leave? I have some work I need to do around the house.”

“You won’t bother us,” Willow said, innocently. “Hammer away! I can research while Xander plays video games, I can study through anything.”

Xander, fortunately, had a bit of sense. He caught Giles’ expression and grabbed Willow’s wrist. “I think G-man’s kicking us out, Wills. In a polite, British way.”

Buffy stood, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“I could get less ‘British’,” Giles said.

He locked the door behind them, and once again congratulated himself on turning down Buffy’s request for a spare key.

He returned to the bathroom. Spike pouted mockingly. “Did I scare the poor old watcher-man? Haven’t seen _that_ in a while, have you, Nancy? Slayer’s got you living like a monk.”

“Hardly,” Giles said acidly. “This situation is not working at all. I am going to move you to a less frequented part of the flat.”

“Oh goody, time for walkies.” Spike batted his eyelashes and held up his wrists.

Giles sat on the edge of the tub, reaching for the chains around Spike’s ankles. He stopped and glared. “I would ask you to be a little more civil. You aren’t my guest, you’re my prisoner.”

“What, going to bore me to death? News flash, mate, you’re already doing it.”

Giles yanked the ankle chain hard to get it in reach to un-fasten. “Some people would consider the inability to inflict harm, coupled with being chained up, to be the beginning of a motivation to bite one’s tongue.”

“Oo. ‘Bite one’s tongue’. Harsh words, Rupes.” Spike wriggled his shoulders and sat up. “Fact is, even with this chip and my hands tied behind my back, there’s nothing you could do that would scare me, so why don’t we drop the subtle threats, Jeeves, and just see me to my new room?”

Giles straightened, dropping the chains with a dull clunk. “Pride comes before a fall, Spike. I’ll give you one opportunity to apologize.”

Spike’s response was of the gesture sort.

“Right.” Giles stood and walked out of the room.

“Hey!” Spike called, “And when are you going to bring in the telly?”

***

Giles considered that perhaps he’d gone a bit overboard. This was precisely why he avoided gardening.

Little involuntary twitches and quivers ran all along Spike’s stretched body, adding motion to the art. The arms he had pulled out straight, cruciform, the wrists were twisted slightly before being locked in very tight manacles – there was no time to get a custom fit and vampires didn’t need circulation anyway – this allowed the tricep and bicep to be displayed to their most pleasing affect, like the gentle curves on an ironwood branch.

To achieve the necessary silence, he’d started with a bit-gag, but that stretched the cheeks, which were really one of the more arresting features of this creature and so distorting them was simply a waste. He researched some spells and played around with them, but in the end the best thing to do was simply to sever the vocal chords. Polyurethane would keep the healing at bay, for a while. (It wasn’t like Spike could be poisoned by the chemicals.) Giles was very pleased with having come up with the solution, and after two days the incisions on Spike’s throat were nearly healed away – though he had put a collar of black suede on him to cover the flaw. (Really the collar looked exquisite in its own right, riding up and down on that pale throat that worked in silence.) Sensual lips were bitten and formed soundless pleas and, no doubt, an endless stream of unheard invective.

Spike was panting a little, no doubt from the pain. Sweat glistened nicely in the indirect light.

A carefully applied switch resulted in the most delicate pattern of red lines – nothing too ostentatious. And the member that had started this whole thing was tightly bound in a black leather and chrome device Giles could not remember how he’d acquired – some things you just woke up from a bender and found in your possession. Still, it was handy, that, and ensured that he would not be surprised by ejaculation again.

Giles sighed, tired from exertion but pleased. It had also been a good job he’d done the cutting in the bathtub. Clean-up was minimal. He carried the phone to the foot of the bed and sat admiring his new artwork for a while before he dialed. “Ethan? Yes. I have acquired the most beautiful wall-hanging and must show it off. Can you come?”


	5. Greed (Angel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys - my apologies I haven't been able to be online all week, more or less! *sob*
> 
> And the month ends today and I haven't finished my seven deadly sins! *cries*
> 
> But in an effort to get one under the wire, here is Greed.
> 
> Spike/Angel

Spike only noticed the bottle wasn’t a twist off when a splash of beer escaped and burned the rough tears forcing the cap off had left in his palm.

He threw the cap across the room and mentally tossed away his anger, too. He shouldn’t let the poof affect him like that. Not anymore. He dropped in front of the television with a sigh and switched to hold his beer in his right hand while he flexed his left and studied the regular gashes that described the shape of a bottlecap.

The door to the apartment swung open, startling him, and a familiar form sauntered in.

“Oh hell no.”

Angel dangled a single key by his head. “Did you know the firm seized all of Lindsey’s assets?”

“Thought Mrs. Park was a mite obliging on the rent, me not paying it and all. Peaches, whatever you have to say you can turn your fat arse around and say it to the wind. I made myself perfectly clear.”

Angel leaned against the door frame. His shoulder rose and fell as he tucked the key back into his pants pocket. “Didn’t come to apologize, Spike.” He tilted his head and smiled.

“And you can stop with the sweet and cute act – we both know it won’t work on me.” Spike pointedly reached forward and snapped on the television.

It was a talk show – and some mindless cacophony of clapping, the host trying to recap before commercial, but he fastened his attention on it and drained half his beer.

The door swung shut and the lock slid home. Three lazy strides crossed the room. (Try as he would to concentrate on what Montel was saying, Spike catalogued Angel’s every move with wary care.) The sofa sank and creaked as Angel sat. He spread his arm along the top of the couch and fingertips brushed Spike’s shoulder.

Spike shrugged him off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Angel obligingly moved his hand to Spike’s thigh, where it was batted away like a fly. “Come on,” Angel said. “How can you possibly be this upset?”

“Told you I’m not going to be your side-project. No more, Angel. Not even going to look at you while you smell like wet dog.”

Angel frowned. “Nina doesn’t smell like wet dog.”

“Does to me.”

Angel let out a deep, put-upon sigh, that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He rolled to face spike, setting his knee on the other side of his lap and resting his forearms on the younger vampire’s shoulders. Spike glared daggers at him. With a soft expression that belied any affect of the icy stare, Angel said, “Don’t be jealous, baby.”

“I’m not jealous. It’s a simple formula. You might have heard of it. One plus one. Either you’re with wolf-girl or with me.”

“No.”

Spike pushed him away, hard enough that he had to bend awkwardly to avoid knocking the TV off its stand. He leapt to his feet. “You don’t get to say ‘no’! This wasn’t a question, mate.”

Angel straightened his coat. “Yes, I do. You’re being greedy.”

“Me? All I want is the simple fidelity most blokes take for granted – though lord knows why since it’s apparently bloody extinct.” He spat the last word out and gestured angrily at the brick wall behind him. “All I have in my life now that isn’t yours is this shitty flat, and now you’re showing me that’s not mine, either.”

Angel couldn’t suppress the little-boy-winning-an-argument grin. He shrugged. “I want you. And Nina. And you both want me. I don’t see the problem.”

“Problem: I say no. Thank you for playing, get out.” He pointed to the door and held his hand there, waiting.

Angel loosely grasped his wrist. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.” Spike punched him and was startled when Angel simply rolled with the blow and grabbed him around the waist, pressing their bodies together. “And you’re hard.” He ground his hips forward against the evidence in question. “Come on, Spike, what happens between me and anyone else has nothing to do with us.”

Spike felt the temptation to just give in and get a good shag tugging at him. He quashed it firmly and raised an eyebrow. “So it shouldn’t bother you if I ring up Buffy, then?”

Angel’s smile evaporated instantly. Spike smirked at his victory. “Yeah,” he said, tilting his chin up, “you want open? That’s both ways.”

“Watch yourself, boy.”

“Ha.” Spike twisted out of Angel’s grip and danced backward. “Problem is your inflated sense of your own irresistibility, dark avenger. I just said I don’t want your cheating wide arse, so get. Out.”

With a sudden explosion of strength, Angel threw Spike against the wall. He hit like a clapper against the bell. Tiny white stars veiled his vision. Angel turned him, pressing Spike’s belly to the wall, trapping his arms, twisted, between them. “No, Spike,” he said, leaning his full weight on him. “You do want me. We both know it, and you’re going to admit it.”

“Sod off.”

Angel pressed his ear over Spike’s, using his head to hold Spike’s in place. “Is that one of the million ways you have of saying ‘go have anal sex’? Because I have to tell you, Spike, that was kind of the idea.”

“Lucky shot, peaches, but give me a moment and I’ll beat you. Again.”

Angel growled, faintly, against his ear. A vibration that stirred Spike’s traitorous libedo, and he knew Angel could smell it plain as he could smell the thick, cloying lust wafting off his sire.

“That isn’t how this is going to work, Spike. See, I don’t just want you, I want to hear you tell me how much you want me. I want to hear you beg.”

“Won’t happen. You’re as sexy as paste.”

Holding Spike’s crossed wrists in one hand, he wriggled his other hand between Spike and the wall and began unbuttoning his fly. “I get what I want.”

“Not this time.”

“Every time.”

Spike hissed as his erection was freed and, his lust short-circuiting his pride for the moment, pushed back against the hard body caging him in.

“Come on, Spike, just give in, give me what I want. Beg for it.”

The words were as effective as ice water. Spike’s eager press turned into a hard shove. “Seems you’re the one can’t keep your hands off my luscious body.”

Angel licked his lower lip. “It is luscious.”

Spike pushed Angel toward the door. “Flattery gets you fuck-all.”

The push was answered with a roundhouse punch and before you could say “Round Eight Hundred Thousand and One” they were reducing the meager particle-board furnishings to kindling.

Reeling from a header into the refrigerator door, Spike smashed a piece of counter in half and threw it at Angel, “You’re lucky none of this is real wood, or I’d be rid of your poufy…”

The insult wasn’t finished because Angel’s “poufy” shoulder slammed into Spike’s gut, robbing him of breath.

Spike made an airless lunge, but Angel was ready for him, flipped him onto the counter and the world went dark as his skull smacked the faucet.

After the momentary confusion of awakening passed, Spike was not surprised at all to find himself chained to his own bed. He raised his head, eyebrow raised. “This is getting really fucking tedious.”

Angel sauntered toward the bed. “I like to stick with the classics.” He stopped a few feet from the side of the bed, where Spike could have the best view (of course) and started slowly undressing.

“You want to shag? Fine, one more for the road. But this is it, Peaches. This is all you get.”

Angel stepped out of his pants and onto the bed. “So you do want me?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No begging. None of that shite.”

Angel crawled over him, slowly, muscles shifting with purposeful grace. “I want to hear that pretty, pretty begging.”

“An’ I’m sure you can tell me how you wanted ice water in hell.”

Angel’s response was to dip his face into the hollow of Spike’s neck and nip at the soft flesh. He chuckled as Spike’s chest rose in a gasp and his right side tightened into gooseflesh.

Angel licked and teased his way down Spike’s torso. He laved the gentle depression where thigh met torso, drawing his tongue slowly closer to the curls, licking them now and again, nipping at the sensitive skin between his thighs, but not touching the rigid column of flesh that bobbed in protest, gently slapping his face.

When this didn’t get him any response he latched onto one creamy thigh and sucked hard enough to raise dead blood to the surface, pinking and darkening it to nearly black.

A whimper escaped tightly pressed lips. Angel sank fangs into the flesh, taking a little taste while he ran his fingernails gently up and down Spike’s hips and quivering stomach.

A stream of invective replaced the whimpers, calling Angel every name in the book and a few he was sure Spike had invented just for him.

It was just like drawing. You start out with gentle strokes over the full of the canvas, and gradually lines and shapes became more prominent, the pencil straying over them again and again to darken and solidify the form. So his scratching and biting grew harder, delicate welts and beads of blood forming at the inside elbow, the pelvis, the neck. Spike was thrashing now. Angel let his cheek brush the silky head of Spike’s cock whenever he passed it, and sometimes he would turn and let it slide over his lips, or he would open his mouth and slowly advance on it, just to breathe against the flesh and move away.

“Something you want, Spike?” He paused to look him in the face. His teeth were clenched, his throat stretched.

“Beer would be nice,” he managed in a strained voice.

Angel chuckled. Spike gave a whine of shocked disappointment as he stepped off the bed and padded, unhurried and stark naked, into the kitchen – around the ruined table and chairs and scattered evidence of their battle. He opened the fridge and leaned down perhaps a bit more than necessary to select a beer from the bottom-most shelf.

He carried it against the hard plane of his stomach, the bottle sweating droplets against his satin shining skin.

Spike, too late realizing that he was staring, licked his lips.

“Mm,” Angel set one knee on the mattress at his side. “Thirsty?” He raised beer to his lips and took a long, slow drink. A cold droplet of condensation fell just a centimeter from Spike’s nipple. He shivered at the sensation.

Angel rolled the cold bottle against Spike’s cheek, neck, and the red marks on his arm. “Want it?”

“Want you to stop teasing.”

Angel’s face lost all humor, he was perfectly still. “Beg.”

“No.”

Angel shrugged. He took another gulp of beer and leaned down.

He opened his mouth against Spike’s throat, the wet, cold beer inside flowing against flesh heated by bruises.

Slowly he dripped beer from his mouth over every wound on Spike’s body – mixing the cold relief with the sting of alcohol on wounds. He nipped his way down the wrists slowly, over the metal cuff and spread Spike’s curled fist open with insistent fingers, so he could kiss the still-present wounds on the palm. Then he licked between each finger, sucking on the tips while his body undulated against Spike’s, their cocks dragging against each other randomly – all too infrequently, streams of pre-cum joining their bodies and glistening in the low light.

“Fuck,” Spike said.

“Mm?” Angel never ceased laving the fingers in his mouth, exalting in the rough texture of the pads, the neat edge of the nail.  
  
“Oh, fuck it. Yes, Angel, I want you. Now. Come on.”

“Hmm.” Angel straightened, braced on his arms around Spike’s head he humped against him, twice, very slowly and surely, and Spike bit his lip, neck arching back even more as he groaned. Friction at last!

And then Angel shifted, went to the other hand, repeating the attentions he’d given to the first, he took a swig of beer and pressed his lips, slightly open, the inside forearm, working his way slowly up, dribbling beer along the taut arm.

“Angel! For fuck’s sake! I’m going to explode!”

Angel let a finger slip from his lips with a loud pop. “Beg,” he said, and then licked the crinkled, sweat-salt palm of Spike’s right hand.

Spike quivered all over. “Please. Please, Angel, you big fucking pouf, please fuck me.”

“Hm. Doesn’t sound sincere.” Angel trailed his fingers gently down the center of Spike’s torso, ever so gently – almost not touching – over his cock and then dug his fingers hard into the flesh underneath.

Chains and bedframe groaned as Spike tried to fold in half against the sudden pain which only increased his desire. “Fuck!”

“When you beg,” Angel reminded, and raked his small hard nails up to Spike’s stomach, up his side and over the ladder of his ribs to the exquisitely sensitive underarm.

Only when the general form was properly filled in could you turn your attentions to details like this – the soft flesh and light, curling hairs damp with sweat and sweet with desire. Angel licked the tangy flavor, swirling his tongue through the hollow and nipping here and there to raise a blush to the skin.

“Please, you son of a bitch. Yes, all right – you win. I want you. I’ll always want you, you insufferable bastard.”

Angel dragged his tongue back down over the tracks his fingernails had made – felt the slight roughness of the welts and their height and breadth. He stopped to nip his nipple, and then, because it was only fair, nipped the other one, laving and chewing the tiny buds until they were slightly swollen and red. Then he returned to his downward progression, letting the fringe of hair on his head tickle along the delicious bumps of Spike’s abdomen he gave a long, slow lick to the very tip of Spike’s cock – not holding it, letting it bob away as he tasted the musky fluid.

“Christ! Whatever you want! You sadistic prick!”

“Mmm,” Angel said, sounding like he was considering, he pushed Spike’s thighs as far apart as the chains would allow and started paying very particular and detailed attention to his balls, perineum, and all areas adjacent, mapping out the complex surface in gentle, hard, painful and tickling touches, all varied and controlled, painting sensation like color, subtle compliments and contrasts until every inch was sensitized and Spike was begging in earnest.

“Please. Do whatever you want. Anything you want. I’ll do whatever you want. Just fuck me. I can’t take it anymore. Want to feel you, Angel. God! Christ!”

Angel savored the sound. That was what he’d wanted to hear – when Spike gave in and just poured his soul as wholly into begging as he had into refusal. For the first time he let his fingers dip lower, into the little dent of Spike’s ass. He was rewarded with an instant lifting of hips. Spike tried to impale himself on the gentle fingertip playing over his most sensitive flesh.

The tickle was intolerable. Agony and ecstasy and Spike simultaneously wanted it to stop immediately and never, ever to end. He writhed and strained.

The room smelled of sweet wheat and beer and hunger. “Yes, yes, damn it, do it. You magnificent son of a bitch.”

Angel considered that he, himself, had been more than patient, holding out on his own pleasure to prolong the teasing. He licked at Spike’s pucker, working his fingers in saliva on the surface while he gently humped Spike’s shin, eager himself for more stimulation.

Incoherent half-words joined moans and pleas. “Just… fuh… Angel!”

Angel watched the intoxicating sight of the puckered opening forcing down on his thick fingers, fucking onto him. Angel built him up to a steady boil before rubbing his body thoroughly up Spikes, every inch of skin dragging against him, wriggling to maximize contact while Spike panted.

“Tell me the truth, baby, do you really want me to fuck you?”

“Dick!”

Angel chuckled. Their bodies were moving together, wriggling side to side on a sheen of sweat. “There’s that, yes, but do you want me to fuck you? Want me to use you to slake my own lust? Or do you just want to get off?”

“You’re a fucking prick and you know what I want.”

“Mm… not good enough, Spikey. You have to give me what I want to get what you want.”

Spike thrashed his head back and forth. “Twat. Cunt. Fine. Please, Angel, I wanna be fucked. I want you. Insufferable self-important git!”

Angel licked his cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”

Angel slid into him in a smooth stroke like a well-oiled machine. Both men groaned in pleasure, frantic motions stilled to thrill in the moment.

Angel set up a languid rhythm and Spike strained to meet his lips and they kissed hard and deep, tongues and lips bruising against teeth as they rocked.

“Fuuuck, gonna cum,” Spike gasped the moment their lips broke. “God, already… just a little…”

Angel quickly reached between them and tugged Spike’s balls hard.

“OW!”

“No coming.”

Panic settled on Spike’s features. “Oh no. No we are NOT playing that game.”

“Beg for it.”

“Angel, please don’t be a complete bastard and let me come. Please!”

Angel tilted his head as though considering it, then smacked his lips. “Nah.”

“ANGEL!!”

The steady and relentless thrusts were building a wall of pleasure inside Spike, a threatening explosion, sparks shooting through his brain and all along his nerves. “Please oh god whatever you want. You get it all, anyway, why do I bother to fight? Please, Angel…”

Angel bit his own lip hard to hold off orgasm in the face of such beautiful pleas. He grabbed Spike’s hips and lifted them off the bed, changing his angle and pounding hard into Spike’s sweet spot on each thrust, he held one hand at the base of Spike’s dick, squeezing hard when he felt the vein expand, though Spike cursed and thrashed and fucked up on him.

“Anything. Angel, please. I won’t complain, you can have the dog-girl. I just… please? Whatever you want, just don’t leave me…”

It was like a crushing velvet weight dragging him over a precipice – Angel couldn’t stop himself from spending at last, long, hard, and deep, he felt emptied and melted, falling against Spike like putty.

Next to his boneless limbs, Spike was taut as a trip-wire, and vibrating, his hips working in short thrusts, all the motion he had available to him, feverishly trying to get off before Angel came to his senses and…

Angel tugged his balls hard, again, and rose on to his knees.

“Angel!” Spike pleaded, straining with all his might against the bounds, as though he could bend his body in half to get his dick closer.

Angel shushed him. “Don’t be greedy,” he said, and walked out the door.


	6. Wrath (Xander)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, another deadly sin! 6 of 7, kids! Leaving only "Lust" to be fulfilled. mmm.. Lust! The pressure is on!
> 
> Spike/Xander
> 
> Non-con (well, I just gotta, don't I?)
> 
> Xander fans be warned that he's a bastard in this.

The Sunnydale hospital felt abandoned, though every now and then someone would walk by or peer out of a room like some troll under a bridge. Life still clung to Sunnydale, like all towns in the grip of tragedy. Life just found a way.

Spike tried to push the melancholy thoughts from his mind as he strode down the corridors, smelling the fragility of life and hope and thinking of other times, other evacuations.

Finally he reached a room that was lit up, smelling of recent activity and fresh disinfectant. Xander Harris sat up in the bed, flipping listlessly through a magazine. The white gauze over his eye brought out the dusky pallor of his sun-darkened skin.

He wore one of those flower-print hospital tunics. Spike stopped in the doorway, hands in his pockets, trying to come up with a good gibe about that. Something about how it wasn’t far off from his usual apparel. But he wasn’t back in top snark form, yet. Stupid soul buggered up the darndest things.

And then that one brown eye was fastened on him, pinning his soul to the wall, finding it unworthy.

Spike kicked the scuffed linoleum. “Wanted to see how you were doin’.”

The magazine hit the side-table with a defeated sound. “Well my career as a sharpshooter is dead. That was a joke. Depth perception, bleach boy.”

“I got it,” Spike said, without rancor. “Anything I could do?”

“Go back in time two days and talk us out of that attack or maybe, I don’t know, be quicker?”

Spike’s voice was a bare whisper. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well sorry doesn’t cut it, blondie. We humans don’t grow things back.”

A silence filled the space after his words and the empty weight of the hospital seemed to settle around them. Xander heaved a sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come here.”

“Xander, I…”

“Was that not English enough for you? Come here.”

As Spike walked closer Xander peered up at him. “They stuffed the socket full of cotton. Did you know that? An eye socket can collapse. They had to clean all the bits of destroyed eye out, too, scrape it empty. I was awake for that.”

“Wish I’d been faster, Xan. Shoulda been faster.”

“Kind of a slogan for you,” Xander tilted his head to give his good eye the advantage. “If you’d been faster I’d still be able to get a driver’s license without a special permit. If you’d been faster Buffy wouldn’t have died and this first evil wouldn’t have come at all. If you’d been faster, maybe you would have finished screwing my girlfriend before we caught you on camera.”

Spike flinched, and then the vulnerability bled out of his face. “Bleedin’ Hell. Aren’t we past that?”

“Oh I’m dwelling. Guess it’s a side-effect of the whole end-of-the-world sitting around alone in a hospital blues. I dwell. Like maybe if you’d been fast enough you would have just raped Buffy before she stopped you. Do you ever think of that?”

Spike stumbled back as though he’d been struck. He held up a hand. “You know what? This was a bad idea. All my love and that bollocks, carpenter boy. See you back at the house.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Think you are. Think I’ll be giving you your space to dwell or whatever it is you’re doing.” He backed toward the door.

Xander grabbed his wrist. His hand was hot, the skin rough from work and sweaty. “I’m not finished with you. Don’t you get that?”

Spike’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want me to say, Xander? I’m sorry? There’s a lot I’m sorry for, and I don’t think we have the time to go through the soddin’ list.”

Spike didn’t resist as Xander pulled him by his arm, though his eyes reflected wary confusion.

Xander held his wrist to his own chest, pressed against the soft, much-washed cotton of the hospital gown. “I want you to pay. I want you to suffer for what you’ve done.”

The corner of one lip lifted a little. “What part of getting my soul shoved in me like a hot poker up the arse do you think wasn’t suffering?”

Xander shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s a torment I can’t possibly imagine or something. Mostly, though, it’s lacking in the me being able to see it department.”

Spike bit his lip and then looked away. “What do you want?”

Xander let go of his wrist, a brittle anger growing inside him in response to the calm resignation in Spike’s voice. He pushed Spike’s chest, making the vampire step back. “Where’s your fight, Spike? No chip now. Are you going to fight me this time?”

“Don’t want to fight you. Same side, aren’t we?”

“Oh no. We might fight the same foes, but you and me, we have NEVER been on the same side.” He stepped past Spike and shoved him hard toward the bed.

It squeaked and slid a little on the floor as Spike hit against it.

“You think this is going to help? It’s never enough, mate. Listen to the formerly evil: Vengeance is as cold and unsatisfying as the piss you call beer.”

“And yet, I’m still willing to give it a go. Take off your clothes.”

“Ain’t that a mite cliché?”

“Go with the classics. Besides, you want to have something to wear out of here, don’t you?” Xander twisted a handful of black material in his fist.

Spike squirmed out of his shirt. “Fine. Fine. Don’t rip it. Fuck, I’ve only got two of these left.”

Xander traced the faint scars on Spike’s chest. Whorls of the First’s torture on top of self-inflicted scratches and who knew how many other injuries, sunk into smooth flesh, forgotten to time. How long before this chest would return to a perfection Xander’s skin would never know again? His hand, dark against that pale expanse, showed small nicks and little scars from work, from play, hell, one was from Willow’s fingernails, years ago when they’d played at slap-fighting.

Spike shifted uneasily under Xander’s examination, shimmying out of his jeans and boots and leaving them where they fell at his feet. “There. That’s all gone, then. Here I am, as nature made me.

“Shut up, Spike,” Xander said, continuing to inspect his chest. “Lie back. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Well I must say you are a very obliging torturer…”

“I said shut up.” Xander lifted his hand at last from Spike. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” His voice was quiet and without malice, which was the most frightening thing about it.

“All right.” Spike carefully lifted himself fully onto the bed and settled back against the pillow. “We’ll play it your way. C’mon. Show me what you think you can do. Won’t be anything that hasn’t been done before.”

“Have you lost an eye before?”

Spike’s brow wrinkled as he started to think about it and Xander jabbed his thumb.

“Ow! Bastard!”

They struggled, Xander climbing onto the bed and leaning all his weight, his thumb pressing hard into Spike’s right eye. It was firmer than he’d thought it would feel, not popping as his had, no loud sound and horror, just a hard-boiled-egg feeling. Huh. Poking out an eye was harder than Caleb made it seem.

“Stop! Xan, stop or I’ll fuckin’ hurt you! I swear!” Spike threw Xander off of him. He sent the side-table and an IV-stand crashing.

Spike sat up, his right eye blood-shot, bleary, tears streaming down his face. He blinked and held his hand up in front of his face.

Xander felt his back, his bare ass where it had hit the fallen stand hard. “Thought we were on the same page here, Spikey.”

“You’re raving mad. I’m leaving.”

Fury erupted in Xander, pulling the blood from his skin and adding a red haze to his vision. He slammed into the vampire with a roar, punching, kicking, clawing and biting when he found flesh under his teeth or nails.

“Xan! Xan! Stop!” Spike twisted, grabbing for Xander’s arms, his shoulders, his sides, trying to hold the boy off of him without hurting him again.

“NO.” Xander ended up straddling Spike’s chest. Beneath his hospital gown, bare flesh lay against bare flesh, anger-hot against dead-cold. He slipped back, feeling his balls catch against the friction. “No, Spike. You stop. Stop getting away with murder. Literally. Stop being weak and worthless and dead. Can you stop? Can you?”

Spike arched his throat as though in offering, his head back, eyes wet and unseeing, one clear and blue, one covered in a fine mesh of red lines like cracked glaze. Already a black crescent was forming under it. Xander ground his hips down. It was meant more as a way to hurt the vampire, to press him more into the gritty floor, but it sent an unexpected thrill up his spine. Anger met lust and got on with it like two horny teenagers in a black out. Xander slowed his motions, rubbing himself off on the flat stomach, feeling the tickle of hair, the soft cock, then sinking down, pressing between legs.

“Come on, Spike. Stop holding out on me. Let me see what so special about you, what lets you walk away scot-free while I get to wear the scars.”

Spike shook his head, rocking the back of his skull on the linoleum. “Can’t tell you. Don’t know. Scars are there, though. I feel them, inside.”

This, Xander thought, this was what he had hoped it would feel like, his thumb sliding neatly into a socket like his dick sinking into tight flesh that resisted so deliciously and then gave, dragging sensation through him.

Century-old vampire or not, there was a hitched breath, a tension that was satisfyingly humiliated. Xander watched his face very closely, taking more pleasure in the tears leaking from tightly-pressed eyelids almost than he did from the rich, slick feeling of blood gliding over his cock. Deeper and deeper, he wanted to feel he’d beaten his way straight through to the floor. His hips jolted against Spike’s pelvis on each down-stroke. They slid along the floor slowly, irritatingly, until Spike’s head fetched up against the wall and he pressed his palms to it, trying to save himself from beating against it.

“Bastard,” Xander pounded in to him. He floundered a moment, reaching to snatch one of those bracing hands away, but the slight push back was so good, he let it slide. He used his dick to beat him. It was enough.

And never enough. He grunted and panted, unflattering sounds joining the slap and slide of flesh in the unnatural quiet. A whine choked off in his throat, his orgasm squeezed from him like an escaping parasite, taking a chunk of fury with him. Tears stung his eye, burned in the empty socket where tear ducts still tried to lubricate what wasn’t there.

He pulled free, cum still dribbling from the end of his softening, gore-slicked dick. He picked up the IV stand and with the last of his strength swung it into Spike’s stomach, picked it up and swung again. It felt made of lead. His legs were made of paste. He swung again and then fell, with the metal stand, on top of the vampire, elbow pressed hard into ribs that moved back and forth with jerky breaths.

Spike’s eyes were still closed tightly, his head still back, offering his throat. Exhausted, Xander stretched over him, tilted his head and bit, as hard as he could, over the adam’s apple. He felt a little crunch of cartilage and a whimper that vibrated through his teeth. Blood was a metallic tinge over the clammy skin. He let his head fall, then, to Spike’s shoulder, one good eye staring at the even marks left by his teeth. “Look at that. You were right, dead-boy. It’s not enough.”

For a long, cold hour they were as two dead bodies thrown together, like cord wood on the dusty floor of a nearly abandoned hospital. Some footsteps squeaked by down the hall, once, and didn’t look in. Whoever it was –looter or hold-out employee – Xander was grateful they didn’t look in to see him, ass (and nearly whole body) hanging out of a torn and hiked up paper gown, the flotsam of his own wrath.


	7. Lust (Ensemble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last of my seven deadly sins! After being so mean to Spikey on the other six, I thought I'd give him a good time this time. And, really, c'mon! Lust!
> 
> Parings: Spike/Wes, implied Spike/Harmony, Spike/Lorne, Wes/Fred. Really implied Spike/Everyone. :)

It was Lorne’s birthday (at least as close as they could figure – Fred was the leading world expert on the time differential between Pylea and Earth, and had done some mathematical gymnastics that no one was willing to discuss, much less question, so yes, it was now decided that May 3rd was Lorne’s birthday.)

She sat in place of honor under the pink shade umbrella at the end of the pool – though it was night time she insisted that the umbrellas stay up. “It just looks depressing without them!” Her enormous mai tai had a pink umbrella of its own and Wesley was trying very hard to keep his eyes on it, rather than the paper on her lap with her sprawling notes on date calculations. He most certainly wasn’t looking at the gentle curve of her breast and how the top of her teal-green one-piece lifted away from her skin every time she exhaled. Swim-wear left so little to the imagination, and yet he was imagining. He could almost feel the spandex under his hands, feel her ribs vibrate as she chuckled…

No, she was with that Knox wanker. They’d had coffee. Stupid little…

“I need a drink,” he said, interrupting her mid-formula.

Fred pressed the papers into her sarong. “You didn’t have to listen if you weren’t interested, silly.”

“No, no, fascinating. I… drink.” A waiter passed with a tray of neon-colored concoctions and he raced after him.

The waiter was heading back to the bar anyway so Wes ended up propped against it, looking out over the Wolfram and Hart roof, where bright colored lanterns hung on strings and employees – evil and not- padded about in swimming clothes.

No one was actually swimming, however, except one…

Wesley gaped as Spike climbed up out of the water, smooth as an eel, water pouring off of sculpted muscles.

At the top of the ladder, Spike scowled. “What are you watchin’, watcher?”

“Hm? Oh. Watching. Um, nothing, really, just… uh, enjoying the solid life?”

A slow smile slipped across Spike’s mouth like a forearm gliding through water. “All those perks like buoyancy and displacement, yeah.”

Wesley watched his hand skim down his flat stomach, gathering droplets into a stream off his fingertips. Wesley felt moisture growing in his mouth, too.

“Right,” he said, turning on his heel and grabbing a drink at random from the bar. It was all that wanker Knox’s fault. He had the bluest balls in the history of balls – and being a member of the watcher’s council he knew a thing or two about those - how could he withstand a sight like THAT?

Wet footsteps padded behind him. “Somethin’ botherin’ you, watcher?”

Wes found himself between a potted plant and the parapet, a ridiculous purple drink in his hand. He tried to keep his eyes from drifting downward as he asked, “Did, uh, Harmony pick that suit out for you?”

Spike chuckled and there was a snap of wet spandex. “Yeah. Thought I’d give the daft bint a thrill.”

Helplessly, Wes glanced down and saw Spike’s thumb slide back and forth along the narrow waistband of the very tiny silver Speedo. It clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination but how they managed to make the snake-skin print look so textured.

Something clattered and fell over the edge of the roof. Oh, it was his drink. Wes glanced down the slanted glass roof, a parabola of moisture all the evidence of his beverage’s plummet.

A cool, wet hand settled on his waist, soaking through the fine silk of his hawaiin print shirt (chosen for the occasion and its luau theme.)

“Think it’s time you did something other than watch,” Spike whispered, a cool tongue flicking out to trace the edge of Wesley’s ear.

Every drop of blood in Wesley’s body surged, like a well-trained army, to a single point, leaving him light-headed. “Oh fuck,” he said – the extent of intelligent conversation he was capable of at the moment.

Spike blew into his ear. “Pool shack,” he said.

It is a little-documented fact that a grown man can make it from the parapet at the end of the roof to the tiki-themed pool shack in three seconds. Perhaps lust temporarily empowered one with flight. However it happened, Wes barely blinked before he was pressed up against a rough wood wall decorated with aluminum tubes and nets and other pool equipment of dubious use. All he was aware of was the tongue in his mouth, the smell of chlorine, and water-roughened hands peeling him out of his clothes.

“Oh, fuck!” he said, grasping that teeny silver Speedo and feeling it leap like a fish in his hand.

“That’s the idea, yeah,” Spike said, and set about licking and biting along his throat and down to his collarbone, where he stopped and sucked hard at the dip above the clavicle.

Skin-on-skin contact became the most important thing, ever, his flesh burning from inside and Spike was so, so cool. The swimsuit vanished and he was holding cock, pleasant and heavy in his hand, rubbing up against his own.

“Bloody hell, watcher! Slow down! You’re about to pull it off!”

Wes widened his stance, lowering himself to meet Spike’s hips in a steady grind, his hand clenching both cocks together while Spike whimpered against his neck and started to make sweet pleading noises.

They strained against each other – the vampire no doubt holding back his strength for the human’s benefit though he moaned and pleaded and writhed like a worm on the hook until at last something broke for both of them and a hot and wet burst exploded between them, coating their stomachs. Spike scooped his hand between them and then pushed Wes over the stand-up pool vacuum, prepping him with hurried fingers coated in a mixture of jiz, cold and hot.

Wes had thought he was finished, but an expert touch, a twist over his prostrate and he was pushing back eagerly, his cock half-filling again. Spike knew a thing or two they didn’t teach at the watcher’s academy. (Wes made a note to advise the curriculum board.) His broad cock forced its way in, stretching and filling him with just a hint of pleasant burn and then he was scrambling for a better hold on the plastic venting below him so he could press back into each long, slow thrust. It was an undulating fuck, every inch of body adding its force from the floor on up. Wet skin heating with friction, and pleasure building and building like pressure behind his balls and up his spine – how could you want sex so much while in the midst of having it? – need and pleasure and need grew until his vision blacked out and he was coming again, twitching until every last drop was wrung from him.

Spike smacked him on the bum. “Thanks, Percy. You’re number three, by the way.”

Wes wondered what that meant as he stumbled out of the pool-shack, tucking his shirt back into his pants. In a chaise lounge not five yards away, Harmony raised her glass in salute. Her hair and make-up were in disarray and her conspiratorial wink was about as hard to miss as a derailed freight train. Ah, so that was number two, surely.

Leaning against the building side with his hands in his pockets, Angel glowered at them both. NOT number one.

Spike, looking unfazed, stopped at the pool edge and bent over – impressively over – to scoop up a handful of water. The thong bikini seemed to nearly disappear from that angle. He stood and splashed the water over his head, smoothing his unruly hair back into a slick cap, sending tiny rivulets down his back and shoulders. He tossed an undeniably cheeky look back at Angel and strutted – oh yes that was a strut no doubt – back to the bar, where Lorne was leaning on one elbow, talking animatedly with Gunn.

Angel, Wes, and, really, anyone who happened to catch that little display of flexibility, felt their tongues hanging out, panting dry puffs of air against the crushing weight of desire.

Spike wrapped an arm around the green demon and whispered in his ear. Lorne threw back his head in an expansive laugh, red mouth open against green features. He turned and gave Spike a peck on the forehead while the vampire’s hands snaked under his mango-colored jacket and did – well, something very fascinating.

Curiosity and lust both satisfied, Wes opted to find an open chaise lounge for himself – walking and standing were both proving difficult.

He sighed, sinking into the comfortable cushions and feeling the pleasant ache of well-fucked muscle. Over by the bar Gunn was excusing himself while Spike had perched on one of the bar stools to have the reach to nibble at the base of Lorne’s horns. Judging by the ecstatic expression on the Pylean’s face, Spike was once again putting his extensive demonology knowledge to work.

Angel was still pouting. Fortunately, he now had Gunn stepping between him and the rather erotic display.

Fred giggled. Wes blinked, surprised he didn’t notice her approaching. She plopped down on the end of the lounge beside his, long legs carelessly spread in a way that would be unladylike on anyone less charming. “I was wondering why Harmony said buying Spike those swim trunks was a gift for Lorne! Look at that – they’re running off to the elevator equipment closet. Again!”

Sure enough, We caught a glimpse of a pale buttock and bright fabric disappearing into a nondescript door in the building side. “Amazing. Uh… where did Harmony say she got those?”

Fred threw Wes a flirtatious grin. “Well, the trunks themselves were off-the-rack. It was the lust charm that cost extra. I gotta thank her. This party’s going to be one everyone remembers!” She adjusted her sarong and craned her head. “But Lorne’s gonna have to stop at seconds if the rest of the guests are going to get a turn!”

Wes felt his heart thump loudly and, he was certain, still completely as he stared at Fred. She threw him a long, slow wink. “And you thought I was nothing but equations, didn’t you?”

“Hardly. Never. You are…” He stammered, unable to form a word that encompassed how amazing Fred was.

“Mmm hmm.” She took his hand. “I think the pool shed’s temporarily free.”


End file.
